Mask
by celste
Summary: A mask Aoshi longs to get rid of...how does Misao help?


Mask

A one-shot fic by Celste

Characters belong to Jump, Sony and Nobuhiro Watsuki!

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Mask. That was what his face was--a static, never changing mask, void of feeling. In fact, Misao wondered if that was really his face, or if it was just another Noh mask--painted white with occasional splotches of colour, stiff and emotionless.

She looked at his face again--eyes closed, meditating. Even then, the mask of a face never betrayed any feeling, although he was supposed to be at peace. Pouting with dissatisfaction, she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Misao, stop that." His voice was as cold and flat as always. She winced irritatedly. _Should have remembered that he can sense my every action without opening his eyes._

Silence reigned for a while in the room, with him meditating as usual, and her staring at the mask/face and daydreaming. She had never been interested in meditation, but was only there to accompany him. Not that he had asked her to do so--he hardly ever seemed to notice her meagre presence. The thought of it made her sulk again. _I can't take it anymore!_

"Whatever you're thinking, I hope you don't intend to do it." She glared at him, now clearly peeved.

"What has that got to do with you, Aoshi?" she snapped.

"When you're thinking of me, it has everything to do with me," he replied, smiling inwardly underneath the emotionless facade.

She huffed and puffed, face growing redder by the minute. It was hard to tell if that was out of anger, embarrassment or both! Whatever the case, she was choking so hard that it was difficult to get any word out. In fact, she looked so much like a bomb about to burst that Aoshi secretly wondered when she was going to explode. Sensing the heat and battle aura in her ki (presence, life force), he wondered what she was going to do next.

Come to think of it, it was just a game that they played--only she did not know that they were playing it. She would try to get his attention by telling jokes, or just about anything else (including attempting to make him furiously angry). He would pretend not to notice, while secretly being amused, delighted and touched inwardly by her efforts. Irritated and peeved, she would try even harder, and when there was still no response from him, the anger she had been trying to contain would explode like a sudden flash of lightning before subsiding into a more peaceful rain of light punches to his steely, muscular chest (which he took in stride). Then, sunshine would return in peals of laughter, and sometimes a rainbow of a smile--all in less than a day.

Regular, predictable weather had never been his thing.

He let her familiar, comforting energy drift over him, washing his guilt away. For a moment, he pondered on whether or not to let that cumbersome mask crack even for a split second. he had had enough of it. It obstructed his way whenever he wanted to clue her in to his true feelings. However, old habits die hard. When he became the Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu[...the leader of a group of ninja] at the age of fifteen, he had sealed all emotion into his heart. Feelings were weaknesses, and he could not show any to his enemy, or even the hundreds of men, all older than him, that he led.

The mask was now securely adhered on, nearly impossible to tear off. He would not have minded it staying that way had he and Misao not been reunited after a fierce battle in which he had almost lost both his life and his honour. She had made it her job to attempt to pull the mask off, and put a smile in its place. So far, she had not had success.

Unknown to her, the years of suffering, pressure and pain that stuck the mask fast onto his face were dissolving, aided by the happiness and light she brought to his heart. It was only a matter of time before that mask fell off......

Without warning, something soft and warm hurtled into his arms. Aoshi opened his eyes, startled. Misao slipped her arms around him, curling close to his heart.

As all the feelings she had bottled up gushed out in a rush of tears, Aoshi felt his arms sliding over her too, and he absentmindedly pulled her closer to him, stroking her silky black hair. Like a drowning man gasping for breath of air, he did not want to let go. Slowly, gently, he tilted her shell-shocked face up to him, and kissed her tenderly.

Misao stared, dazzled, as the mask collapsed and fell apart right before her eyes, revealing a face she had seen only once before, more than ten years ago when she was still a little girl. Eyes shining, a smile playing around his lips, he looked upon her not in the way a statue looks, unstaring, at observers, but with the passion of a man at the woman he loves.

The mask had disintegrated and disappeared--forever.

Owari

This story was what I wrote for a composition test during class. We were given a few titles to choose from, and I was instantly attracted to this one--Mask! It didn't take long to realise I could actually turn a story with that title into a fanfic, and I'm satisfied about it. Thanks to Aoshi and Misao's love, Aoshi's meditation and emotionless mask of a face, and Misao's...erm...zeal, I got 30.5/40 for that composition--just barely an A1, which is rather rare for me! (Bows) Arigatou Misao and Aoshi!

(Yeah, I am a crazy person to risk my marks for this. If the teacher knew the characters weren't original, I'll probably come pretty close to failing, or even fail completely)


End file.
